When the group returned to the lounge, Ma Hongjun, the Grandmaster, and Flender were already waiting for them.
Seeing the wild grin stretching across Flender's face, Han Feng rolled his eyes.
"Dean! Made a good profit, didn't you? Shouldn't you reward us for all the hard work? "
On any normal day, just mentioning money in front of Flender would make him explode—let alone asking him to treat them. If you were a student and dared to ask for cash, he'd scold you to death.
But this time? Flender only chuckled, raised a hand, and said cheerfully,
"No problem, no problem! I'll take you all out for a big meal later! A victory feast—to celebrate our little monsters' first team battle win! "
Hearing that, Ma Hongjun's eyes lit up like lanterns. The gloom from sitting out the fight vanished in an instant!
Han Feng stared at Flender in disbelief—then suddenly realized something, groaning inwardly:
"Too careless! "
This battle hadn't just shown off the Shrek Eight Monsters' strength—it had made Shrek's name roar across the arena, and Flender had pocketed a fortune. In this mood, Han Feng could have demanded far more than just a meal! But the words were already out, and he couldn't take them back. All he could do was silently plot how to eat enough to make it worth it.
If Flender knew what Han Feng was thinking right now, he'd probably kick him out of the academy on the spot.
But really—was Han Feng the only one with this thought?
Just look at Ma Hongjun's green-eyed greed! Even Dai Mubai suddenly didn't feel sore or tired anymore!
Getting Flender—the stingiest man alive—to pay up? That was worth celebrating on its own. Everyone was thrilled. Oscar cheered up too, handed out recovery sausages to everyone, and then led the charge toward Soto City's biggest, most expensive hotel.
Even the Grandmaster smiled and postponed the post-battle review—no way he was spoiling this mood.
At the banquet, the Grandmaster and Flender didn't linger—they slipped away early. Two elders hanging around would only make the kids uncomfortable.
Once they left, the atmosphere exploded into wild cheer. Nobody knew who started it, but soon several crates of ale were brought in—and a challenge was thrown down: "We're not leaving until someone drops! "
Han Feng tried to stay calm. He knew his own limits—he wasn't a one-cup lightweight, but he definitely wasn't a heavy drinker either. Still, he couldn't fend off Dai Mubai and the others pestering him. After a few forced gulps, his cheeks burned red. Realizing he was at his limit, he quickly faked being drunk and slunk into a corner to focus on food instead.
Watching Dai Mubai downing drink after drink, Han Feng snorted in pity.
He vaguely remembered from the original story—among the seven, there was one who could drink anyone under the table. One person who wiped the floor with them all. He couldn't recall who exactly—but he was certain it wasn't Dai Mubai.
With the way Dai was chugging, ten more minutes, max, before he's out cold.
Sure enough, before long, the casualties began. Ma Hongjun and Oscar collapsed first, sprawled together with obscene grins plastered across their faces. Nobody even bothered separating them—let them deal with the awkwardness when they wake up.
A few minutes later, Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing went down too. Dai slung an arm over Zhu Zhuqing's shoulder, babbling slurred love confessions and embarrassing stories in one breathless stream—completely oblivious to whether she even understood. Mid-sentence, he passed out cold.
Zhu Zhuqing's face flushed scarlet. Hugging her glass, she quietly laid her head down too.
Now only three were left: Tang San, Xiao Wu, and Ning Rongrong.
Though calling Xiao Wu "standing" was generous—she was spinning in circles, giggling and yelling nonsense like a dizzy rabbit.
Ning Rongrong's face was crimson, her breath sweet with alcohol. And Tang San? Sitting there as calm as a mountain. Not a hint of color on his face. One hand lazily holding his glass, the other draped over his chair, eyes half-lidded with a look that said, "Pathetic, all of you."
Han Feng watched this and sighed.
"As expected of the main character."
But then—after Xiao Wu finally toppled—Ning Rongrong swayed her way toward him. Maybe it was the alcohol, but all her usual shyness was gone. She reached out with slender fingers, tracing across Han Feng's cheek.
"Han Feng… why aren't you drinking? "
Panic flared in Han Feng's chest—had she noticed his little act?
"I… I drank! Of course I drank! "
"But you don't even have a glass…" Her eyes glittered with playful mischief, lips curling in a sly smile.
Han Feng, a little fuzzy from the booze already, missed the glint in her eye. To cover his tracks, he snatched the glass from her hand and drained it in one gulp.
"See? Finished! "
A spark of delight danced across Ning Rongrong's face. She leaned closer, her voice sugary sweet:
"Nope! That's cheating! "
Han Feng grimaced. The ale tasted awful—if not for the mood, he wouldn't touch it at all.
"What's so good about this stuff…" he muttered irritably, his tone already showing signs of drunkenness.
"No excuses! You said, 'We don't stop till we're drunk'!" Ning Rongrong declared, big eyes boring into him with stubborn fire.
Han Feng thought hard—yeah, he had said that. His head throbbed. But then another thought crept in:
Ning Rongrong? A little girl like her can't hold much. She's probably only lasted this long because everyone humored her. And anyway—the real heavyweight here is Tang San. Why should I be scared of Ning Rongrong?
With that, his pride flared.
"Fine! If it's a drinking duel you want, I'm in!"
Joy lit Ning Rongrong's face, her cunning now in full bloom.
"Good! Let's drink!"
Three rounds later, Han Feng knew something was very, very wrong.
The room spun. Ning Rongrong's voice came in waves, like echoes underwater. His thoughts tangled and blurred.
Meanwhile, Ning Rongrong's smile turned soft and secretive. She reached out, poked his cheek, and whispered:
"Han Feng? Han Feng…"
"What…?" His voice was weak, eyes closed, head lolling against the chair.
"What do you think of Ning Rongrong?" Her cheeks glowed crimson, her heart hammering, but she asked anyway.
Han Feng didn't even open his eyes.
"Ning Rongrong? She's… okay, I guess. Just too bossy. If she'd stop acting spoiled around me, she'd be… a good friend."
The word friend stabbed like a knife. Ning Rongrong panicked.
"But she's changed! Really changed!"
"Changed? …Maybe." His voice drifted, faint and fading.
Biting her lip, she hesitated—but then blurted the question gnawing at her heart:
"Han Feng… do you have someone you like?"
"Yes!"
Her breath caught.
"Han Feng will always love Sister Qianqian!"
The words exploded out of him as he suddenly bolted upright, one foot on the table, shouting like a warrior making a vow.
Ning Rongrong jumped, then scrambled to ask:
"Who… who's Sister Qianqian?!"
"She's Sister Qianqian! Who else?! Qianqian loves me so much! She calls me Little Feng, I call her big sis! If she wasn't in Heaven Dou City, I'd go see her right now!"
"Little Feng… Big Sis… Heaven Dou City?!"
Ning Rongrong's eyes widened in horror. Panic surged like a tidal wave. She grabbed his hands, trembling:
"You call her big sis?! She calls you Little Feng?!"
Han Feng shot her a look and shook her off.
"She's eighteen! I'm twelve! Of course I call her big sis! What's the problem?!"
Hearing that, Ning Rongrong sagged with relief, patting her flat chest and muttering:
"Thank goodness… thank goodness…"
Han Feng didn't hear the rest. His head dropped, arms folded on the table. Within seconds, he was out cold, snoring softly.
Right up until his last moment of consciousness, one thought baffled him:
"How the hell… can Ning Rongrong drink THIS much?!"